Friends on the other Side
by EaglesFeather17
Summary: Behind the Curtain: Prussia isn't proud of being East Germany. He thinks his new form cannot make up for the power and influence he once possessed. Can a trip with his aggravating leader to an island located in the Caribbean Sea change his mind?


**Warnings:** This one-shot does not focus on suspense or something else of this sort, but on the fact that Hetalia nations do NOT represent their government. They represent their people (with their stereotypes) and thus, are much more complicated. Their bosses only tell them what to do and they have no say in the decision making. This is what Behind the Curtain is focusing on in general. As we all know, most nations have lived for a very long time. This is why it is reasonable that they don't agree with some decisions they have had bad experiences with, in the past.

Russia isn't put in a good light. Why? Because in canon Prussia hates his guts. There will be focus on Russia's point of view in another part.

 **Friends on the other Side**... of the ocean

They had been flying for _hours_ and slowly the GDR felt himself drifting asleep. His head was about to touch the cushioned headrest of the seat, but he pinched himself in the back of his hand. He couldn't. He wouldn't sleep in proximity of his leaders. Especially in front of those who yet had to earn his trust, which was basically impossible with the economic system they supported.

 _Socialism_.

The word itself tasted bitter on his tongue. Even though it had been years since when he had been introduced to this system he still couldn't believe how people could be so blind of the consequences. This so-called "social"-ism wasn't improving the East German economy at all. It made lives difficult and miserable.

Okay, it had brought along some good aspects for his people like a very low unemployment rate, but the state-directed economy was plain stupid. How were humans supposed to be innovative and try to change their financial situation when they had no reason to? And then there was the utter exclusion of participation at the Western market. The GDR didn't even remember when he's last had access to a banana. The Iron Curtain forbade him from interacting with his brother on the other side who was being under watch of the Western powers.

Gilbert looked around and noticed that his own leader had fallen asleep in the seat next to his. His mouth was opened, and his big goggle-like glasses were resting on his nose in a very weird angle. He would be a person to laugh about if he didn't occupy a dictator-like position in his country and if the situation in general wasn't that serious. During the Nazi era, Erich Honecker was held as prisoner for being part of the German Communist Party and then was arrested countless times for the same reason or another. At the end of the Second World War, Honecker even claimed that he had abandoned communism for good and never intended to come into contact with it ever again.

What a liar.

The white-haired nation sighed deeply and clutched the armrest of his seat. He was losing the feeling in his legs which he had held in the same crooked position for hours. He stretched his arms above his head and massaged his fingers. When were they finally _there_?

The GDR has never been an impatient nation especially not when he had been Prussia, but time seemed to drag on. The man let his head flop against the headrest and he looked up at the plain ceiling of the plane. He didn't know much about their destination. Honecker had only burst in his office the day before and told him in his drawling voice (which was just as slow as his head and made him look stupid), that he would join him on his travel to a country located in the Caribbean Sea. This got the GDR thinking because he had never been there before. Spain had told him stories of his conquests in the area, of course but Gilbert never truly listened to him boast about his colonies.

Gilbert clicked his tongue. What was the country's name again? He scratched the back of his skull; the air has gotten warmer and stuffier. Distractedly, he looked out of the miniature window of the airplane and regarded the crystal blue sea they were flying above. The sun was high up on the sky, its reflections making the water sparkle. What a beautiful sight. It was so different from the rainy days in Berlin. Or the blizzards in Moscow.

He flicked his red eyes on the booklet his sleeping leader was holding. The cover showing a beautiful white beach framed by big green palms. Sadly, Honecker's hand was covering the title of the booklet which he could _bet_ was about the allied socialist country they were travelling to.

Silently, the GDR started a debate with himself about taking the booklet or not. His leader was sleeping deeply anyway, Gilbert decided, he wouldn't notice. But still he scolded himself for forgetting the name of the country, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten into this peculiar situation from the start. On the other hand, what would Honecker do to him anyway, right?

With a shrug, the GDR reached out and fished the small brochure out of Honecker's hands. Carefully, he avoided touching his leader's skin and skimmed the cover. "Cuba" was written in bold letters. Even the name sounded promising. With new-found interest, Gilbert thumbed through the book and got glimpses of more beautiful photos. He was starting to look forward to meeting the country. What would he or she be like? It was probably a beautiful girl with dark hair skin and deep brown eyes, dressed in a colorful flowery skirt, singing and dancing.

The GDR sighed dreamily in thought of his vacation-like business trip so that he didn't notice a pair of eyes watching him. "I like seeing you so interested in Cuba," came the drawling voice from the side which caught Gilbert by surprise. His head snapped to the source of the sound, his leader.

The GDR caught himself and covered his surprise with a well-practiced answer: "Of course, why wouldn't I like forming relationships with our socialist allies?" he said and returned his attention on a featured article. Honecker reached out and stroked his arm, happily smiling brightly at him. The white-haired male tried not to shudder under his touch.

 _How dare he be so oblivious to my actual resentment towards him?_ He thought, but let it go in the next moment.

He had formed a secret plan ever since his separation from his little brother. He had promised him that he would make the best of being a "communist" satellite state of the Soviet Union by sucking up to his leaders and, ugh _Russians_ at daylight, while preparing his escape at night. And luckily, his plan had succeeded somewhat. East Germany was one of the wealthiest countries trapped behind the Iron Curtain and his people weren't as bad off as others.

His people had a good educational and working system, good providence for their health and little unemployment. Nonetheless, it could be _better_. And the thought of not being able to change their situation for the better through hard work because of a stupid ideology set him on edge. He should have the freedom to decide his own fate, dammit!

Now Honecker even started to lean on his shoulder pointing a finger at a picture: "Look, in a few hours we will land here...and then we will go there... and then… after that... "

Gilbert started ignoring him. His voice was too painful to listen to and the GDR didn't take not listening to him when he had told him about the country amiss anymore. It was justified to just nod and not to remember a word he said.

"…and I think the personification of Cuba will be there to get to know you. You will spend a week with him. You will live with him, eat the same food he does and maybe even share your clothes like true comrades!" the politician finished with a smile on his face, only then he straightened his big round glasses after having taken a nap which felt like hours ago.

"How do you know the personification is a man?" Gilbert asked. Did Honecker now even possess the capacity to destroy his fantasies?

"I spoke with Castro. He informed me about his nation. Are you disappointed?" his leader asked while opening his eyes even further, making Gilbert feel like being X-rayed.

"No. I am not," the nation answered curtly. He didn't want to talk to Honecker at all especially not about his thoughts and feelings. Otherwise some not-so-nice words might spill from his mouth and he had to prevent this from happening at all costs! Changing the topic for his own security he asked, well demanded: "Please enlighten me about the reason of our business trip again."

The politician gave him a questioning look but complied: "I made this trip possible for our great nations to deepen their relationships." The man leaned towards him again, whispering with his hand in front of his mouth after making sure that his fellow statesmen and -women on tze plane couldn't make out his words. "Castro said he had a surprise planned for us. I don't know what it is, but he made it sound big and important."

The GDR didn't know if he should laugh or cry about his leader's silliness. No, he decided, in the past "silly" politicians never improved his country, quite the contrary actually and Honecker was no exception. He was a stupid communist with no sense for mundaneness. A hard slap in the face would do him good.

"I am sure we will be satisfied with it," Honestly, Gilbert didn't know what to say anymore. Why did he have to take the booklet which woke up the ass in glasses?

Honecker meanwhile leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and (finally) removing his hand from his country's sleeve. "I think you two will get along just fine."

"How come?" Gilbert blurted out his patience running thin.

Honecker pursed his lips and tucked at his glasses. "He was described as a very sarcastic person who can be very rough when angered."

The GDR clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, trying not to snap at the man seated next to him. "Oh, really…," he commented almost snarling. This guy didn't know how to stop when his stupid explanations did not appeal to his audience. Hopefully, a flight attendant would come soon and tell him about the nearing landing at their destination. Honecker was unbearable.

* * *

A few hours later, the airplane landed safely on a concrete runway (with deep potholes). The passengers got off the conveyance device and waited for their luggage. Honecker motioned for his country to stand at his side and without much of a choice Gilbert fulfilled his wish. Two very tall men were approaching them with more men clad in uniforms following behind.

The taller of the leading pair, probably Castro, extended his hand to Honecker who shook it respectfully. They exchanged some words and then he greeted the GDR. Gilbert did the same as his leader, though with less excitement and less _talk_.

"Thank you for your warm welcome, Comrade Castro. The German Democratic Republic and I are looking forward to our time here," Honecker piped up, his drawling voice still annoying Gilbert. Whenever he said something the GDR only thought: _Get a move on…_ And then the asshole also used his full name which the albino didn't want to be reminded of.

Castro smiled, too, his lips slightly covered by his dark beard. "This is the least we could do for such close allies. Thank you for following our offer of visiting our beautiful country," The man spoke truthfully and then spread his arms, silently signaling to the man who had been by his side to step forward.

Gilbert eyed him up and down. The other was tall, no joke and overweight. He was wearing a colorful floral shirt complete with brown shorts and sandals. He had dark sun-kissed skin, and hairy arms and legs. His sturdy dreadlocks were held together in a ponytail by a ribbon at the back of his head. A faint stubble was covering his chin and under the comparatively thick eyebrows (which still weren't anywhere near the size of England's) were dark eyes located which were probably scrutinizing Gilbert himself. So, all in all, the GDR was his polar opposite.

"Hi, I'm Cuba," the man spoke, his voice sounding friendlier than Gilbert had expected.

The GDR nodded dumbly at first but then gave him a small smile shaking the Cuban's hand firmly. "Nice to meet you in person," With a haughty look he added: "You already know who I am, obviously."

Cuba grinned unfazed at the display of the European nation's conceitedness and took a step back, regaining the position of Castro's right-hand man. The Cuban Minister laughed and declared the next points of the agenda. Taxis accelerated and the leaders were picked up by the car which would take Honecker to the next hotel, while Cuba and the GDR were left standing on the runway.

"So, what now?" Gilbert asked perplexed by the situation as he looked around the empty airport. All of his other ministers and states-men were gone too, leaving the two nations utterly alone.

"Now, we are going to walk a little," the dark-skinned Cuban explained to him. The man walked ahead waiting for his visitor to follow him.

Gilbert shook his head but caught up with Cuba. "I need my belongings first," the GDR said and grabbed his lonely luggage off the cart. Apparently, no real security means were of importance there.

"Let me carry it for you," the big Cuban offered out of politeness, already bending down to take the suitcase, but Gilbert defensively declined.

"I am strong enough to carry it myself."

Cuba shot him a confused look but shrugged it off. "Alrighty, then come along. We should be at my house before midday. Otherwise the heat is mostly unbearable."

The two continued walking along the coastline and with wonder the GDR looked at the deep blue shimmering sea and at the palms swaying gently in the wind. It was a picturesque image just like in the brochure.

Even though the wind on the beach brought slightly cooling air (and sand) along, Gilbert had to stop more and more often as time passed to tuck at his collar and wipe away the beads of sweat on his forehead. He thrust his bag in the sand without a care and stretched his arms.

Cuba walked back a few steps when he heard the GDR wasn't following him anymore and gently took the luggage off the ground. "I will take your stuff and you take off your jacket. This is too painful to look at."

Gilbert looked up at him at the teasing remark. Maybe this holiday would be better than he thought, at least this nation wasn't as spineless as the Trembling Trio living with Russia. "Alright. When are we at your house?"

"We are almost there. Now come on."

The nations kept walking until a small cottage came into sight. As the men neared Gilbert could make out that the house was in a worse condition than he thought. The bright green paint of the outer wall was falling off and crumps gathered on the sandy ground. Cuba pressed a used key in the rusty lock and pushed the slim front door open with a loud creak. "Welcome to my humble home," Cuba said and invited him inside.

It was dark, the house somehow managed not to let in the bright sunlight from the outside. The GDR looked at the few small windows and spared himself a further explanation. The sparse sunrays made Gilbert aware of how dusty Cuba's home was too, due to the insanely high number of flying particles in the air. "Fuck, when was the last time you cleaned in here?"

To Gilbert's amazement, the Cuban didn't even flinch when he said that. Instead, the large man shrugged with his broad shoulders when he positioned the suitcase he had been holding the entire time on the floor next to the ratty sofa. "I don't have a cleaning crew at my disposal like a certain _somebody_ in this room."

"What do you mean? Firstly, I do clean by myself every day. I just like it when things are stainless and second of all, it has been years since I last had a cleaning staff. Which wasn't even mine to begin with," Gilbert explained tiptoeing his way to the Cuban with fear of the wooden planks on the floor giving way.

Cuba flopped on the sofa with a deep sigh and crossed his arms over his stomach. The GDR sat down next to him feeling slightly uncomfortable on the thin sofa cushion, but he wasn't one to complain. "What's your human name?" Gilbert asked distractedly. His leader (as stupid as he might be) did tell him to get to know Cuba.

"Carlos Machado," the man replied. "What's yours, GDR?"

The albino sniffed, "Gilbert Beilschmidt. But please don't call me GDR. My name is _Prussia_."

Carlos looked at him with surprise. "Isn't Prussia dissolved? Why do you still want to be referred to yourself as such?"

"Thanks for reminding me of the beginning of my down-fall," Gilbert growled and clenched his fists.

"Why are you so sad about it? You still exist, right? And have a good life."

Prussia's head whirled to him, shocked to hear these words. "What do you mean a _good_ life?! I am not allowed to travel anywhere I want to! I am not even allowed to see my brother who lives a few kilometers away. My home is in shambles and I am being controlled by stupid people and an insane Russian."

Cuba sighed deeply and a little annoyed. The heavy men stood up from his sitting position and proceeded to the small kitchen area at the end of the living room. "This is gonna be a long talk, I can tell. You need something refreshing. The sun probably burned away the majority of your braincells," Carlos put some vanilla ice cream in two milky glasses and poured some rum on top, a Cuban delicacy. He walked back to his guest and handed him the one which contained more of the treat and a spoon.

"So," the Cuban started as he reoccupied his seat, "you think _your_ life is bad?"

Prussia looked at the dessert and smelled it with suspicion. Noticing that the ice cream looked normal and frozen, he took a first bite (he sure didn't want to get Salmonella). He swallowed enjoyingly and then answered his host's question. "Yes, I do. I am not made for having a socialist economic system, because I've been a "capitalist" all my life. The system is restraining me and holding my people back from achievements. I don't want to be reminded of my new name because I think the GDR is not something I can be proud of."

Carlos rolled his eyes and gored down his own share of the candy already emptying the glass. With a clank he let the spoon fall inside the bowl and put it on the armrest of the sofa. "Damn, I thought this acquaintance would be a lot different," he mumbled and then spoke seriously: "You don't know what you've got. You don't know how envying your wealth is."

Prussia scowled at him angrily. "What do you mean "wealth"? I own nothing, nothing at all!"

Now it was Cuba's turn to let out his anger: "You are just one of those spoiled Europeans who are never satisfied! You are all whining about not having enough land and slaves to exploit!" Carlos pitched his voice and fluttered his eyelashes mockingly. "Ah, no! My neighbor has got another colony! I need a new one, too! Move on, soldiers!"

Gilbert flashed his sharp teeth, looking like an angry canine. He jumped off the sofa and pointed a long pale finger accusingly in Cuba's face. "Without those 'spoiled Europeans' you wouldn't even exist in this way. One word: Spain! And for your info, imperialism has been over for a long time! You sure are isolated on your little island."

To Gilbert's surprise, the Cuban didn't turn defensive, but instead gently pushed down his out-stretched arm. "I didn't imagine you to be so… hot-headed and ashamed of yourself. I thought you would be prouder."

The albino cast his eyes on the floor and put his hands inside his pockets. "I used to be proud when I was someone else," he spoke melancholically.

Carlos looked at him expectantly, but Gilbert smirked and changed to topic. "Well, I imagined you to be some hot Cuban girl. But what did I get to see? Some fat and lazy man."

Cuba leaned his head to the side and grinned at Prussia. "At least I don't look like an underfed plucked chicken which could easily be snapped in half. I thought you would be a proud country with a strong economy who would give my people hope to face the future."

"You really think that? Am I such a disappointment to you?" Gilbert asked sarcastically.

The larger man stood up too and gripped the other's shoulders tightly subtly shanking Gilbert. "Oh please! You are the perfect role model of a functioning socialist country. The GDR is a paradise compared to Cuba, I don't know what you're complaining about!"

Prussia glared at him, snarling. "I am nothing compared to West Germany! I am glad that my little brother is better off than me, but my people are jealous of their relatives in the FRG! And I don't blame them…"

Carlos groaned annoyed. He was getting nowhere with his hardheaded guest. "Come on. I'll show you what great things you have done for my country. I don't understand what you are missing," The Cuban pushed the smaller man to the door and took a straw hat off the screws in the wall. He set it on top of the Prussian's head and kicked him out of the house.

With a surprised yelp, Prussia fell in the sand, sprawled like a starfish. Gilbert squinted at the drastic chance in brightness of his surroundings and slapped off the sand on his knees and hands. _So much for hospitality and manners. He just kicked out his guest and most awesome trading partner._

A tanned hand gripped his upper arm and the Prussian was pulled along. Fearing the worst, he asked: "What are we doing? Taking a walk in this unbearable heat? Didn't you say the sun is unbearable at this time of day?"

Cuba smirked at him from above. "You don't like doing sports or what?"

"Of course, I do! Can't you see?" Gilbert growled and freed himself out of the other's firm hold with a practiced move.

"Nah, not really," Carlos teased and motioned at his guest's arm. "Your arms are like noodles. Thin and wobbly."

"Not as wobbly and fat as your stomach," Prussia cackled and hit Cuba's gut, followed by a hefty dull sound.

The man winced slightly and put his hand on the wounded spot. "That actually hurt," he admitted.

Suddenly, both started laughing and begun to enjoy each other's company more. Finally, Gilbert had found someone who could take his boisterous and rude personality without taking serious offense.

They walked in silence and passed several buildings, each in a different color. People were on the sandy streets calling and waving friendly at each other. Children were playing catch or some other game, while elder women were sitting on stony doorsteps, knitting.

Cuba looked at his people and smiled proudly. "Ever since being excluded from trade with that bastard America, we had to do business with you guys, the Eastern bloc," he addressed Prussia. "You in particular changed our lives a lot."

Gilbert looked at him confused. "What did I do?" he asked.

"Your people helped mine by building up the police and made Cuba safer."

"Ah, the police probably include something similar to the Stasi too," Prussia added drily. Those bastards who controlled and chased his honest people seemed not to stop in his own country.

Carlos threw back his head and rubbed his face. How did this strange person always find a point which would make his invaluable?

"I'll show you something else," Cuba called to a little girl with pigtails who was running after a group of boys: "Juana, come here for a second!"

The girl stopped her game and grinned at the man, tooth gaps showing: "Hola, Carlos!"

Cuba crouched and introduced his friend. "This is Gilbert. He isn't from here and he would like to know how well you can read," The Cuban fished out a wrinkled and torn piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Juana.

The girl looked up uncertainly, but Carlos encouraged her. With a slightly trembling voice she read: "Ron, palmera y cigarro."

Cuba clapped happily and smiled brightly. Juana said good-bye to the men and continued her game.

He expected Gilbert to be amazed, but instead the Prussian was looking at him in bewilderment. "So, what? She can read, alright."

Cuba held his fists biting down his anger. He was about to slap the man who took the ability to read for granted. After a few seconds of calming down, he explained to Gilbert what a great achievement the basic knowledge the girl had was. "I wanted to show you how much you have influenced my country. You totally restructured my health and education system and look! I have little to no analphabets anymore."

"Oh," Prussia answered, his cheeks turning pink. And it was not due to the sunburn which was already attacking his fragile skin. It was rare for him receive compliments, lest of all such good-hearted ones.

Carlos noticed the unhealthy color of his friend's skin and proposed to seek shade, though in a less friendly more teasing way. "I think the vampire needs to creep back into a dark hole before he turns to ashes," he said with a snort while he was about to touch Gilbert's bright red hand out of pure curiosity. It wasn't usual to see such pale people in his country after all.

Prussia pulled his hand away from the Cuban's lurking finger and snapped half-heartedly: "Shut up, island man."

The two countries made their way deeper into the heart of Havana, the shops and houses were bunched together offering Prussia much needed shade. They passed a band of three men who were playing exotic music and singing. At least to Gilbert it sounded exotic and he recognized the instrument as bongos, a guitar and claves. He wanted to stay, but he was pulled along by Cuba again, this time in a less patronizing and more friendly way than before.

Carlos stopped in front of a big grey building with high chimneys which were puffing thick black smoke into the blue sky. Proudly, Cuba presented the factory to Prussia. "This one of your factories which offer great jobs to my people and enliven the economy! Here they produce stuff which makes the lives of Cuban citizens easier and provides for them. Did you know that I even have guest workers in your country?"

Gilbert nibbled at his fingernails, a habit he had picked up while living with Russia at the start of his existence as GDR. "Yes, I do know that," Trying to be friendly to his host he added smiling: "They are hard workers and I love them cooperating with my people."

Carlos beamed from ear to ear, his rays of happiness challenging the brightness of the Caribbean sun above them. "Really? Well they love working in your country, too, they have only told me good things about it," He skirted back to Prussia and wrapped a heavy arm around his shoulders. "This is a thing to celebrate! Come on, I know a great restaurant!"

Said restaurant turned out to be a run-down terrace at the beach managed by a dominant housewife who commanded her children to take good care of their guests. The young men put dish after dish in front of the two after they found out that the new-comer came from the República Democrática Alemana. Gilbert felt bad for taking the food from the big family who had probably saved it for weeks, but after Cuba's encouragement he started eating and found himself adoring the Cuban cuisine.

The two countries sat there for hours talking and laughing with and about each other. The sun set, and the sky turned dark. Stars came out and Cuba and Prussia stared at the slow waves washing away small portions of sand off the beach and let their hair be tousled by the gentle breeze.

The house woman brought a big cigar and Carlos took it appreciatingly. After lighting it and taking a few relaxing breaths, he offered it to Gilbert. At first Prussia looked disgusted at the big fumes that came out of the charring end of the oversized cigarette but took it in the end.

Cuba laughed as the Prussian choked and coughed after taking his first breath. It seemed he wasn't used to real smoking. Gilbert glared at him he did not like it when people laughed about his misfortune. The malice disappeared from his eyes and he chuckled to himself. He rolled the cigar between his fingers and regarded it impressed. "How can this contain about as much smoke as the factory you showed me earlier?"

Carlos shrugged and took the cigar back, sucking in the stinking smoke unfazed. "Your little lunge just can't take it, it seems."

Prussia shook his head a small smile gracing his lips. It was a wonder how much their cultures differed from each other. How could Cubans be so cheerful and friendly and especially generous when they possessed so little? Even less than East Germans?

"Your country is beautiful. From your people to the scenery, everything is new to me and I admit that I love being here," Gilbert said with as much honesty as he could muster. He wanted his compliments to be meaningful.

Cuba smiled and beat off some coal of his cigar. "You know, it's supposed to be a state secret until tomorrow, but I guess this state," he pointed at himself, "could tell another state," he pointed at Prussia. "My boss is going to give you, the _GDR_ , an island. You could go there on holiday if you want to."

Gilbert was gaping at the Cuban and leaned forward. "Are you for real? An island for me? What's its name?"

Carlos smacked his lips, revealing the secret's name with a glorious undertone: "Cayo Ernesto Thaelmann."

Prussia instantly translated the Spanish version to German in his head, thanks to having Spain as friend. "Ernst-Thälmann-Insel," he said drily. "He was the leader of the German Communist Party during the Weimar Republic," He explained more to himself than to the Cuban. Great, more communists. "Oh, well I'll just ignore the shitty name of the island when I'm there on vacation."

Moments of silence passed before Cuba addressed Prussia again: "Even though I imagined you to be totally different, I like that I can tease and laugh with you without you taking it seriously and turning defensive. I hope that you are of the opinion too that we could be friends."

Prussia grinned and nodded. "I thought we already were friends. You are an awesome person and a great ally to have. We can survive this hell together."

"At least now you know how much your "shitty" and "poor" country did for mine and that your inventions and invested time raised my people's living standards considerately," Carlos said and scratched over the stubbles on his chin.

"Yeah, thank you for that. I don't feel _that_ useless and weak anymore. I shouldn't wallow in self-pity," Prussia admitted but then addressed Carlos. "And now it's my turn to teach _you_ a lesson, litterbug."

"Which one, oh-holy-heaven-of-socialism?"

Gilbert shot him a flat look. "You need to work more and keep your stuff clean. A good society is based on a good work ethic and cleanliness."

"What do you mean?" Carlos asked without having a clue.

"When we get back to your place we start cleaning it no matter the time. I am not going to sleep in that shithole for the rest of the week."

And thus, a beautiful bond was formed between a nation who did not value what he possessed and hoped for more and the other nation who possessed nothing and did not try to change anything on his own.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

I sadly don't speak Spanish so please excuse possible mistakes

Erich Honecker's portrayal is based on a very funny parody I have seen and I thought it would add a little comic relief. XD

A very common misconception is that the socialist states in the Eastern Block were automatically communist. This is not true. There has never been a communist state on this planet and there will never be for a few simple reasons:

Communism:

-is the complete abolition of private property and requires public ownership of all resources through a labor movement against the propertied class (the bourgeoisie).

-abolishment of all classes of society and equal weighing of body and brainwork, all might comes directly from the people (without a government and a state).

-everyone contributes to society out of a feeling of responsibility for others and recieves from them, out of their feeling of responsibility, exactly what they need to survive. There is no ambition for possessing something, but for living in freedom and peace.

\- The reciept of goods depends on the humans' needs. It requires action of people as a community.

Socialism is just the so-called "last step" to becoming a communist state.

In other words (since it might be very hard to understand):

Communism means that every person works as hard as they can and does their best because they feel responsible for others and put society's needs before their own. They do not expect to recieve a reward of the same value for their work. Here is a quick example: Teachers and gardeners are "paid" the same although their jobs are totally different.

Money in any form of currency becomes invalid since everyone gets exactly what they need to survive. Nothing more and nothing less. So, there is also no private property. Anyone could break into a house and live in it. It wouldn't even be seen as a break-in. For a communist society to work, it is vital that a person overcomes the urge of selfishness and fully adapts the mind-set of having exactly the same value as every other person.

Sounds simple, right? But this is the problem. Humans are not meant to think in those ways. It is impossible for a big mass of people to become a homogeneous mass. There will always be someone who enriches himself and then the whole communist system would collapse.

This is why socialist states got nowhere, other than the people who were in charge not wanting to let go off their high positions and lose their private influence. Maybe I'll rant about socialism specifically in another story.

Sorry for my rants. I hope my explanations are a little understandable. Cuba and Prussia would be great friends, don't you think?


End file.
